


Helping Empathy

by callmearenegade



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Celebrían/Elrond, Sad, Thranduil Not Being An Asshole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:53:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearenegade/pseuds/callmearenegade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond is having a hard time, Thranduil helps. Widowed husbands unite.</p>
<p>Based on a confession saying “It kills me thinking about Thranduil and Elrond losing their wives. It kills me more to think that they helped each other through it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Helping Empathy

The leaves on the trees fell solemnly, as they always did this time of the year but for some reason there was something much more miserable about the event this year. The breeze rustled the remaining leaves on the trees and sent a child through the elf that sat below them. Lothlórien was the land hosting the gathering that he should be attending, but he couldn’t bring himself to celebrate. 

Lord Elrond sat on an old bench in the park, the leaves falling around him in gentle disarray. All of the other elves were celebrating the season, drinks in hand, conversations bubbling but his throat felt to full, his heart to heavy to feel the freedom needed to celebrate.

Elrond had decided to come to the festival and celebration in Lothlórien in the hope of letting go of the grief that strangled him. His sons had encouraged him with their excitement, his daughters smile being the deciding factor that fueled his decision. He had been passable up to the time the celebration had begun and he had been seated at his seat. The wine that had been served was too sweet and he couldn’t originally place the sweetness in his memory. The elves that sat around him were kind, extremely so. They were so kind and gracious to him they had told wished him the best and expressed their apologies over the lose of his wife. He accepted them as was expected of him, despite the crushing feeling in his chest and the lump in his throat. It was shortly after the sympathies that he excused himself from the table with a lack of grace and poise that was expected of such an elf. He would have excused himself properly, or perhaps waited till after dinner had been served and enjoyed, if he could have survived the collapsing of his chest, the coldness that seemed to center from his chest, the inability to breath, and the burning in his eyes. He stood carefully from the table, walked slowly and with as much composure of he could pull from himself, and walked till he was out of eye shot from the table.  
As soon as Elrond had arrived at a distance far enough from the table he started to sprint, full speed. He was very familiar with the layout of Lothlórien and knew where the elves would not be during the celebration and sprinted - despite his long robe- as fast as he could toward the park. His body collapsed on the closest bench when he stopped running. His left arm caught his fall as he collapsed against the bench. His chest rested against the cold surface, he knees folding after buckling. His head dropped till his forehead was resting against the cool granite of the bench. The squeezing in his chest became to much to handle, the lump constricting his throat became unbearable, and the burning and stinging in his eyes brought the tears and he could not halt them, despite his strongest will. Elrond’s mouth opened and a strangled cry fell out. He closed his mouth and his eyes, using all the will he could muster to make it stop. His hands gripped the edge of the bench as tightly as he could, his hand hurting, but he couldn’t stop or muffle the pain in his chest. He couldn’t fight the devastating pained scream the left his mouth. He had hear screams like this from elves and men being healed - or attempting being healed as many were too far gone to truly be saved- during or after a battle. Surely, his pain couldn’t match theirs.But his chest tightened, a cold chill running down his spine and filling his entire being, his whole body quaking in a way unlike the strong elf. He screamed again, tears puddling.  
His wife was gone. He couldn’t bare the thought, couldn’t bare the truth. It had started over a year earlier when she was taken by the wretched creatures. It was his fault, he couldn’t deny it. He knew they were lurking, he knew, but he did nothing. Then, she was taken. His brave sons; their brave sons brought her back and he did what he could to heal her but the damage to her could not be reversed. He could heal physical wounds, but he could not heal her spiritual wounds. He watched Celebrian suffer for a year, watched her not be herself anymore and he couldn’t deny her request to leave this world. He watched her leave as she promised to see him again. He hadn’t shed a tear, not then, not in the few months since her departure, not till now. Elrond wondered if it was the part of him that was men that was the part that was causing the tears and the grief, but he also considered the elf side of him, the one that was so composed had to lose its composure eventually, all elves did eventually. He was hit with double the grief, the feeling of sadness, the feeling of his world collapsing in an instant. He couldn’t stand the pain he was experiencing and he couldn’t ignore it, push it to the back of the wardrobe, any longer. He couldn’t remember a single pain that felt even slightly comparable to this, in every arrow he had taken, every sword he had taken, all the pain he had felt when healing others, nothing could remotely compare to the feeling in his chest, in his head. He continued to scream, the sound echoing back to him. His fist occasionally punching down on the bench beneath him, hoping that it would help pull him back together like pulling the ends of a loose seam. He screamed until his voice was raw and his body felt like it weighed more than any rock, any mountain, the whole world. Elrond managed to find what little strength he had left in him t pull his body to sit on the bench, and here he had remained.

It was there, Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood and the old friend of Elrond had found the broken lord. He had watched his quick departure from the table, though he had not moved at that moment. It wasn’t until Elrond had not returned that Thranduil had thought to go after his friend. He made a quick lie, saying he needed to go check on his young son who was just starting to reside at the children’s table during such events, and quickly departed toward the direction Elrond had left in. Thranduil was not as familiar with the great city as he had been in prior times but Thranduil could feel a disturbance, he could feel the energy, the cold energy he had come to know and feel often, and followed it. He could hear the sobs, the heavy breathing before he rounded the corner to see his friend. The elves broad shoulder were not held in their normal squared posture but rounded and looked as if he was holding an untellable amount weight. His dark hair was in a disarray that resembled the distress the lord was feeling. Thranduil made gentle steps to the lord who turned his head slightly when he heard the foot steps. He wiped his eyes - though he knew they would continue to run- and faced the elf.

Thranduil could see the pain and grief in his friends eyes. The normally bright brown eyes were now a dark, lost, sad brown. Thranduil recognized the pain in the easily. He could truly empathize with his friend, as he too, recently - only a few year ago- had lost his beloved too. Elrond dropped eyes with Thranduil and he continued to walk toward the seated elf.

“ May I take a seat?” Thranduil softly questioned. Elrond nodded and the Mirkwood king quickly sat. He sat there for a moment, watching the leaves fall and feeling the energy of grief coming off of his friend, he took a deep breath and considered what to say.

“ I would give my condolences, but I know they do absolutely nothing to help.” Thranduil spoke quietly to Elrond. Elrond turned and gave a sad smile to his friend in gratefulness. He didn’t know if he could keep what little composure he had if the words of condolence met his ears.

“ I don’t know how you managed this long my friend, I broke down as soon as I returned. Your strength is legend.” Thranduil stated as he placed a gentle hand on Elrond’s arm as he had seen him do to elves. “ But even those of us who are the strongest can not hide or conceal our grief and pain for long. ” He stated with a sigh. Elrond faced the elf fully now, a sad grimace pulled to his lips as he tried to rid himself of it.

“ Us elves are told to be so regal and composed. Only us elves truly know how false that is. We are composed much of the time but when we love, it shows through and rarely does one keep composure, and when we hurt, when we grieve, we are distraught. It is as if we never held composure.” Thranduil said deeply, as he recalled his breakdown. Elrond looked at him, slightly questioningly.

“ You can’t blame your man side for your grief. You must know of what was said of me after ” He stopped and cleared the lump in his throat away “ my wife fell. I collapsed on the floor and couldn’t stop screaming, I felt like my chest was being crushed and i couldn’t breathe but i couldn’t stop screaming ” He eyes welled up, “ I proceeded home and ignored my son for several days. Following, I refused to let anyone touch my child. Then, you are aware, I fired my adviser who continues to tell of how I have lost my mind.” He smiled at the last bit with Elrond, as Elrond perfectly remembered the event. He raised his eyes brows up in response Thranduil’s smile.

“ I can not fathom to look at Arwen.” Elrond confided, his voice rough and weak.

“She is beautiful, much like her mother.” Thranduil agreed. “It will be difficult to overcome, but soon, you will find joy in the resemblance instead of grief.” Thranduil told, remembering how his son resembles his fallen mother.

Elrond smiled and nodded at Thranduil. He grabbed his chest, it still felt tight and heavy and cold.

“ Does it ever stop hurting?” Elrond nearly sobbed his voice broken and breathless.

“ No,” The Mirkwood king said as he bowed his head when his heart felt heavy “It never stop hurting. Some days will be easier than others and your heart will not feel heavy and your lungs will fill, some days your chest will feel like it is collapsing and you won’t be able to breathe. As leaders and as fathers, those days will be even rougher for us to endure, but we will all the same.” He finished, his own hand grabbing his chest as his heart felt heavier.

“ How do I live like this?” Elrond questioned a slight panic in his voice as he thought of going back to the table as he was.

“ You stand tall, imagine her at your side, and you do what you must to survive the day.” Thranduil stated as he stood. He extended a helping hand to the seated lord.

The lord took a breath, deep and calming, pulling every once of strength he had I him. Elrond took the hand and stood, his legs unsteady for a second before they faked strength they did not have. He squared his shoulder, carefully re parted his hair, and thought of his wife standing beside him and pulled the strength from the memories. He opened his eyes and met the blondes eyes.

“ Prepared?” Thranduil questioned as he dusted off his robes.

“ Prepared.” Elrond stated. They both nodded at each other before walking back to the dinner, ready to be what was needed of them despite the gaping holes in their hearts.


End file.
